


Drive away my fears

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, look at these jerks being all adorable I love them so much :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company is resting at Beorn's, but Dwalin is unable to sleep. Thorin is in a similar state and it doesn't take long for Dwalin to discover why - and in caring for his wounds he also draws a promise from his king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive away my fears

**Author's Note:**

> Cuddly Dworin again, wohoooooo! This fic is really nothing special, but apparently whenever I am stressed I need to write my darlings being vaguely adorable as long as it's still somehow in character (which I hope it is). Right, after this is out of my system, I'm gonna go back to stressing about my MA Thesis again...
> 
> EDIT: The wonderful Esthree has translated this work into Russian - you can find it [here!](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2219634)

 

 

_His heart is a shield, which protects me from the vilest foe._  
 _His smile's an elixir, which heals the wounds of my darkest years._  
 _When my love is quiet, I consider him, and he drives away my fears._

_([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4-4qurUlT4))_

 

Falling asleep was oddly difficult. Dwalin twisted and turned in his bedroll, unable to give his body the rest it so urgently desired. He was used to sleeping outside in all kinds of conditions and after weeks of doing so the relative comfort of a straw-covered floor in Beorn's home felt strange. Even stranger was not to have one of their company on watch during the night - despite the thick wooden walls and the presence of a skin-changer it made Dwalin feel strangely exposed.

With a sigh he finally gave up the task of trying to find rest. Rummaging in his package as quietly as possible so that his brother sleeping next to him didn't wake up, he dug out his pipe, pipe weed and a small set of flint stones. Then he made his way over to the other end of the building on silent feet amongst the various shapes sprawled on the ground.

The rest of the company didn't seem to have as much trouble as he had to fall asleep. Most of them were already snoring happily. Since the events in the Goblin Cave and on the Carrock all of them had huddled close together - the Ri brothers slept side by side, Ori tugged into their middle. His cousins had their bedrolls closer together as well, as did the Ur brothers despite Bofur's obnoxious habit of throwing his limbs everywhere in his sleep. One foot was already draped over Bombur's knees whilst another hand was grabbing Bifur's hair. Their burglar was curled up in the midst of the company, restlessly twitching in his sleep and one of his hands firmly curled around something in the pocket of his jacket. Fíli and Kíli were the closest, limbs and hair tangled and all over the place. Dwalin knew his young relatives well enough to recognise how shaken they still where from almost seeing their uncle die before their eyes.

For that matter, so was he.

Only when he absent-mindedly counted the sleeping shapes on the floor as had become his habit, Dwalin noticed that one of them was missing. Thorin's bedroll was suspiciously empty. A few moments later he discovered the reason - the faint glow of a pipe next to a burning candle was visible from the opposite wall. With a faint smile on his lips Dwalin walked over and lowered himself down next to his king.

Thorin acknowledged his presence with a nod of his head, but said nothing else. They smoked in unison for a while, eyes half-closed and feeling the events of the day slowly seep away from their bodies, leaving nothing but relaxation and tiredness in their wake. It reminded Dwalin of countless evenings spent together in front of a fire after a long day of work, with no company apart from each other and comfortable silence between them.

Something inside Dwalin ached and he noticed he hadn't felt this much at peace in a while. The months before their departure Thorin had grown increasingly agitated and restless. Even when they had slept with each other it still felt that he had never been there entirely. As if a part of him had already left on the journey, only waiting for his body to catch up. His distance had hurt, but Dwalin told himself that it was only natural and that everything would be mended once they had reclaimed Erebor and Thorin was crowned King Under the Mountain. Either that or they would both die trying to regain what was theirs by right.

Now that they had finally begun their quest, Thorin was filled with a strange energy that made his eyes gleam with a light that was almost a fever. He hadn't seemed so alive in decades and it both gladdened Dwalin and frightened him with the recklessness that seemed to be accompanied by it. His heart still clenched when he thought about the number of times Thorin had almost died already - fallen off a narrow path at the mountainside when saving their burglar, decapitated by goblins or killed by orcs.

Thorin tapped the hot ashes out of his pipe before tugging it back into the folds of his clothes. The movement caused him to hiss quietly and Dwalin frowned. He knew how much Thorin hated others fussing over him and Óin had already stretched his patience the previous day when he had insisted on cleaning, bandaging and stitching up his wounds at the foot of the Carrock. If Dwalin hadn't threatened to knock him unconscious he probably would have refused the old healer all together, despite the foolishness of such an action.

Dwalin was intimately familiar with every single part of Thorin's face and body and so he noticed what no one else would have seen - the strain in the lines around his mouth and eyes, the slightly clenched teeth, the pale tone of his skin. Despite his decision not to say anything he suddenly found himself unable to remain quiet as he watched Thorin struggle to find a more comfortable position and not betray his pain at the same time.

"Let me see." he grumbled softly, putting his own pipe aside and reaching out into Thorin's direction.

His king's half-hearted attempt at batting his hands away were cut short by a sharp intake of breath as Thorin's elbow accidentally grazed his own chest. They had played the game countless times by now and Thorin knew as well as him that Dwalin wouldn't relent until he'd had a look. Dís had often joked that it would likely be possible to grind rocks into dust between their stubborn heads.

Thorin had shed his fur coat for the night, but had kept the rest of his clothes on as if he expected to be roused every moment. With a sigh Dwalin watched him as he struggled to remove his many layers of fabric without lifting his left arm over shoulder level. He had no desire to prod Thorin's pride further so he patiently waited until only his undershirt remained. The reason for the grown number of dark stains of blood on it became apparent as soon he lifted it up.

The bruising looked almost worse than the day before, deep purples and blacks littering the skin on Thorin's arm, chest and back. Dwalin knew that several of Thorin's ribs were cracked and for a second, he could hear the sickening sound with which Azog's mace had collided with his body again and taste the fear and panic on his tongue. The warg's teeth had left deep marks, the deepest ones of which had required stitching the day before. Dwalin exhaled sharply as he saw what was likely one of the sources for Thorin's increased pain - the running and sudden movements of the day had pulled several of his wounds open which were now slowly oozing blood again.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Thorin averted his eyes at the question, looking absurdly like a young dwarfling who had just been caught stealing cookies.

"There's no need to cause them more worry. I'll be fine."

Dwalin didn't ask who he meant by 'them' - Fíli and Kíli, his brother or the entire company. But another exasperated sigh escaped his mouth as his fingers carefully probed the swollen skin, drawing a second hiss from Thorin at the pain.

"You need to get these looked after. Make sure they aren't infected and get a few of those re-stitched."

His king nodded wearily, either too tired or too hurt to argue. Then he threw Dwalin a glance.

"No need to wake the old healer or delay the journey tomorrow. Can you do it?"

The warrior grunted an agreement. As much as he disliked doing such a task late at night with only the light of a candle to go by he knew he was fortunate enough that Thorin had agreed at all. After a few moments of rummaging in their bags of provisions he returned to where his king had meanwhile managed to take off his undershirt as well.

"Ready?"

Thorin seated himself so that Dwalin could reach both his back and front easily. Then he leaned his head sideways against the wooden wall and closed his eyes when Dwalin carefully set to work on the damage on his chest. His hand gripped Dwalin's knee, the trembling strength of his fingers and sudden intakes of breath the only indication of pain as his friend started to clean the wounds with vinegar again. Another tremor passed through his body when Dwalin set the heated needle to Thorin's skin and although the warrior worked fast and with a sure hand, the king's breath came in ragged bursts and there was sweat on his brow when he finally finished. Dwalin could see blood on his lips were he had bitten into it in an effort not to make too much noise and quietly cursed himself for not thinking of bringing him a strip of leather to bite on.

The warrior felt as if Thorin's fingers had dug right through his flesh down to his knee, but he didn't complain. They had done it countless times before and had developed their own routine for those situations. Dwalin picked up a cloth and wiped the blood on Thorin's chest away, clucking his tongue as he compared his own stitches with those of their healer's.

"You know, my needlework isn't by far as fine as Óin's."

Thorin shot him a weak smile as his muscles slowly began to relax again.

"And one would think that you'd have had enough practise by now." he murmured.

"Aye, but only because some pig-headed idiot of a dwarf is still throwing himself recklessly into far too many fights."

Dwalin's voice was rough and despite the teasing tone of his words he knew Thorin could hear the faint edge of worry and anger beneath them. His friend gave him a slight punch in the ribs. Dwalin motioned him to sit up again so that he could wrap fresh bandages around his chest.

"It was hardly a proper fight. Unless you count getting chewed on by a warg as heroic in which case I suggest you get your head checked."

There was a barely-veiled bitterness and shame accompanying his words.

"You know that it would be a lost cause."

Thorin snorted at his answer, but the humiliation was still apparent in the hunched set of his shoulders.

Dwalin sighed and finished tying and securing the white linen around Thorin's body. Then he gently grasped his shoulders and turned him around, bringing their foreheads together.

"What is done, is done." he rumbled quietly, threading his fingers through Thorin's hair. "No use fretting about it now. Although I wish you would consider your comrades the next time before you get yourself almost killed again."

"I'm sorry."

Thorin's voice was raw before tilting his head and planting a tender kiss on Dwalin's lips. It was barely more than a brush of skin on skin, carrying with it a whiff of blood and pine needles before they separated again. Dwalin ached to continue it, to keep touching, tasting, feeling his lover like they hadn't been able to since their night in Rivendell. But he sensed Thorin's weariness and so, instead of burying his head in his hair and marking the lobe of his ear with soft bites, he simply cupped his jaw with his hand and trailed his thumbs over Thorin's cheek in a gesture of quiet reassurance.

"I know. Just promise me you won't do it again when I'm not at your side to fight with you."

Something in Thorin's eyes went dark at the request, whether with guilt or something else Dwalin was unable to tell. Thorin put his hand over his own and gently removed it from his face, intertwining their fingers in the process.

"I will try. I promise."

"Good. Because I don't want to tell Dís I managed to get brother killed before he even had the chance to sit on Erebor's throne. She'd throttle me with her bare hands."

Dwalin mirrored Thorin's crooked smile at his words with one of his own and helped his king back into his undershirt, scrunching his nose slightly at the stench and the blood still encrusted in it. It would do them all good to spend at least one more day at Beorn's house, he thought, least of all to properly wash their clothes, fill up on their provisions and gain some rest before the second part of their journey. He also made a mental note to ask Óin for some of his salve again to help with the horrible bruising on Thorin's body.

Agitated as he still was he settled down for another smoke after cleaning up. Thorin stayed leaning on the wall next to him although his own pipe remained unlit. They sat in companionable silence again until Dwalin felt something settle softly on his shoulder, accompanied by the sound of quiet snoring not long after. With a sigh and another smile tugging at his lips he found a more comfortable position against the wall in his back, careful not to disturb Thorin's sleep.

So many things had become different over the past century, but in this they were still the same - drawing comfort from closeness. Dwalin hoped it would never change.


End file.
